


river with a knife in the tardis living room, what crimes will she commit

by notjodieyet



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Birthday Present, F/F, i don't write thirteen enough, probably because i dont watch thirteen enough, queer river song, queer thirteen, rated teen for river with a knife, river is sexy, they're married, thirteen/river - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22863118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjodieyet/pseuds/notjodieyet
Summary: the doctor comes up one morning and sees River Song.okay, she thinks.this will be interesting.((birthday present for my WIFE))
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/River Song
Comments: 4
Kudos: 109





	river with a knife in the tardis living room, what crimes will she commit

River Song was sprawled across the purple couch in the living room when the Doctor came in. River was wearing period clothing; she’d just come back from holiday, the Doctor was sure. (What period, the Doctor wasn’t sure; it certainly wasn’t Earth, and she didn’t have the mental capacity to guess where and when. But whatever it was, it had a lot of purple fabric, which was a very stunning color on her). 

“Morning.”

Was it morning? The Doctor had been up all night, tinkering with one wire or another, trying to fix the heating systems in one room and the lights in a different room, and the edges of her vision were starting to blur a little bit. “Mornin’.”

“I like the accent.” River slid a knife out of her sleeve, in one fluid motion, and began polishing it with the fabric of her dress. “Anyway, I have some free time —” The Doctor itched to ask her _free time from what?_ “And I was wondering if you’d like to grab dinner.”

“Sure.” The Doctor unrolled her sleeves, suddenly conscious of her bare wrists. “Lemme change.” 

“You’re fine.” River waved a hand, slipped the knife into her sleeve again. She was lethal. Dangerous. Beautiful. 

The Doctor looked away. Focus. _Focus_. “Casual, then?”

“Yeah, I found a new place.”

“Where is it?” The Doctor stepped out of her work shoes and knelt to zip up her everyday boots. 

“Surprise.”

“Never heard of it,” the Doctor quipped, the upper hand hers for a quick and utterly satisfying moment. 

River smiled at her, and it sent shivers down the Doctor’s spine. Well. That upper hand lasted a nice few seconds, hadn’t it? (Not that the Doctor disliked when River smiled like this — in fact, it did some particularly unspeakable things to her). “You’ve got to set the coordinates. Unless you want _me_ to.”

The Doctor knew River was completely capable of setting the coordinates, actually, but she went through the living room to the bridge anyways to flick a few switches. River hadn’t told her where they were going, but the Doctor was kidding herself if she pretended to have any sort of control over the TARDIS as it was. They would get there if they _should_ get there. 

( _Should have? Should be able to? Will-be-should?_ The Doctor was still, even after all these years, working out the kinks of language that relied so heavily on one tense or another. It implied that time was a linear, clean, tidy thing, when in reality it was so far from that). 

The Doctor felt a sturdy hand clasp around her waist, and she flushed down to her toes. “Got any food in the fridge?” said River. 

“Sexy,” muttered the Doctor.

“Got any food in the fridge, though?”

The Doctor considered. “Leftover soup from last night. It’d be nice if we reheated it in the stove, I think.”

“Mmm?” River kissed the lobe of the Doctor’s ear. The slight touch — the barest brush of River’s lips against the Doctor’s skin — sent glorious shivers down the Time Lord’s spine. “Would you like to stay in for dinner, perhaps?”

The Doctor responded by spinning around and catching River in a deep, dramatic kiss, losing her hands in her wife’s beautiful blonde curls, the two of them hot-blooded and flushed and their collective three hearts sounding like a spaceship taking off. 

In books, people sometimes described kissing like fighting, and it took the Doctor quite a while to understand the comparison. Even with the Master, there was always a clear-cut definition of who was kissing whom this time around, despite the front they both put up of protesting or bickering.

But with River, she understood _perfectly_. It was a push-and-pull of power, an advantage stolen and swapped and held captive, a tug-of-war of who was in control at that singular second. 

All thoughts of soup and reheated dinner were forgotten, as they stumbled in each other’s arms through a door and down the hall, and the Doctor managed to trip towards her bed. “We’re married,” said the Doctor, in amazement. 

“Yes,” said River, and neither of them managed a quite coherent sentence for a good while after.


End file.
